Waiting for Everest

Chapter 2

"Love like that doesn’t go away. It’s here with us forever."

- The Best of Me, coming to theaters October 17

Chapter 2

The interior of Matt Everest’s orange Volkswagen bus smelled like pine needles, energy drinks, and campfire smoke. I sucked in a lungful of the hot, heavy air inside the vehicle as I took my seat on the middle of the bench, the leather upholstery burning the backs of my thighs.

“Hey, Camille,” Matt greeted lazily. He was in the driver’s seat, one hand on the steering wheel and the other feathering over his cropped hair. His dark eyes winked at me from the rearview mirror.

“Hi Matt,” I replied, beaming.

Before I’d successfully maneuvered my arms out from the straps of my overstuffed backpack, Tucker O’Hara slid into the back of the van beside me, squashing me up against the boxes of camping supplies that were wedged behind Matt’s seat. Tucker pulled the door shut after himself, sealing us in like a pair of sardines.

“You’re kidding me,” I grunted.

“All right,” Tucker said, oblivious to my discomfort, as he reached for his seatbelt. “We’re ready to go, Matty.”

I glanced up into the rearview mirror again, but before I could make eye contact with Matt, the girl sitting shotgun spun around to face me. Her mass of wild brown curls—less the color of dirt, like Tucker’s, and more caramel—blocked Matt from my view.

“Hi!” she chirped, “I’m Lindsey, Tucker’s sister.”

She looked vaguely familiar, and not just because she and Tucker were products of the same gene pool. I’d seen Lindsey at rock climbing camp before. She’d been one of the counselors-in-training.

“Camille,” I replied, reaching out to grab her outstretched hand.

“I’ve seen you before,” she said, her eyes—greenish brown, like those olives that get stuffed with tiny chunks of pimentos—widening just a fraction. “You go to camp with Tuck and Matty.”

I felt a little muscle at the corner of my left eye tick.

Matty. I thought only Tucker was allowed to call him that. Matt always whined about how it sounded like a bad pet name. I let out a small, breathy snort of laughter. Lindsey must not have known Matt very well if she thought she could use Tucker’s nickname for him.

“I do, yeah,” I replied.

I hoped my smile didn’t look too haughty.

“We should get on the road,” Tucker announced, shifting on the bench beside me to hold up his watch for Lindsey to see.

His kneecap knocked against mine and I winced, suddenly fantasizing about reaching across his lap, pushing open the van door, and kicking Tucker to the curb in the literal sense of the phrase.

“We’ve got time, Tuck,” Matt said, but he turned his keys in the ignition anyway and pulled away from the curb in front of my house.

Matt’s Volkswagen drove about as smoothly as a horse galloping on a cobblestone road, and there was a draft from the driver’s side window even when it was rolled all the way up, but I didn’t mind all that much. There was something exhilarating about the van, something in the way you lurched on even bump in the road that screamed adventure.

I watched through the front windshield as Matt navigated us through the streets of my hometown. We drove around the east side of the UC Berkeley campus, down a curved road lined with eucalyptus trees and past Memorial Stadium. Then we rolled down Telegraph Avenue, flanked on either side by home décor shops, restaurants and clothing boutiques, and hit at least five red lights before we finally merged onto the highway.